


pound away

by antukini



Category: Naruto
Genre: Baking, M/M, THEY'RE SO THIRSTY SOMEONE GET THE HOSE, Thirsting, amputation mention, they put it back tho don't worry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:48:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24165379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antukini/pseuds/antukini
Summary: He goes through the hallway on quick, soundless feet, taking a quick stop to leave the scrolls in his study—close to the entrance, thank the gods—then swiftly makes his way to the kitchen.The slamming hadn’t stopped the entire time, only stopping periodically before starting up again.As he neared, the smell of baked treats enticed him into moving faster.Madara enters the kitchen only to see Tobirama kneading and pounding at some dough in quick and sharp motions, sleeves held back by a tasuki.
Relationships: Senju Tobirama/Uchiha Madara
Comments: 6
Kudos: 152





	pound away

**Author's Note:**

  * For [raendown](https://archiveofourown.org/users/raendown/gifts).
  * Inspired by [War In Times of Peace](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20107933) by [raendown](https://archiveofourown.org/users/raendown/pseuds/raendown). 



> after two weeks of not writing i'm back y'all ✌😗
> 
> I'M SORRY ABOUT THE TITLE I COULDN'T THINK OF ANYTHING ELSE AND IT MADE ME LAUGH OKAY
> 
> aaaa i miss bakinggggg it’s been a year since our last home ec baking lessons （´д｀ ） making frosting from scratch was so fun, my arm almost died tho lol
> 
> ...i still don’t know how to write thirst lol this is attempt #2 at writing it

Scrolls of work in hand, Madara slides the door open only to hear loud slamming in the vague direction of the kitchen instead of his husband waiting for him. He quickly kicks off his sandals, automatically fixing them on the genkan—he’d rather avoid Tobirama’s judging eyebrow, thanks—taking care to not let the scrolls in his arms spill onto the floor.

He had sensed Tobirama’s mildly agitated chakra as he neared but it hadn’t felt like when he was in a fight, a deceptively still ocean with ripping currents under the surface. This time it’s more like a particularly violent river.

Hmm, thinking back on the events of the past week, Madara has an idea of why Tobirama is feeling particularly irritated today.

He goes through the hallway on quick, soundless feet, taking a quick stop to leave the scrolls in his study—close to the entrance, thank the gods—then swiftly makes his way to the kitchen.

The slamming hadn’t stopped the entire time, only stopping periodically before starting up again.

As he neared, the smell of baked treats enticed him into moving faster.

Madara enters the kitchen only to see Tobirama kneading and pounding at some dough in quick and sharp motions, sleeves held back by a tasuki. The slamming sounds even louder up close, almost as loud as the fireworks his clan so loved setting off on every occasion they could get away with.

He walks over to wrap his arms around Tobirama’s waist, face against the pale neck, breathing in his scent. Tobirama doesn’t flinch, absorbed as he is in his task of attempting to pound the dough in his hands to death, Madara’s sure he’d already sensed him coming home even neck-deep in his baking-slash-attempted-dough-murder.

Tobirama momentarily leans into him as he folds the dough but lets him keep latching on to his back when he moves to slam the dough on the counter again even if it did impede his kneading just a bit.

He hooks his chin on Tobirama’s shoulder, watching his strong arms flex and his deceptively slender hands pound the dough into submission, enjoying the show and the feeling of Tobirama’s back muscles flexing on his chest. No, he isn’t on his tiptoes. (Why are Senju so damn tall? Fucking trees.)

Madara twitches when he feels Tobirama talk, the rumble reverberating in his chest. “As much I appreciate your ogling, could you perhaps help me with the frosting for the cupcakes?”

Madara suddenly notices the cupcakes he’d smelled earlier, two trays cooling on the counter near the oven. Beside the cooling trays are a number of eggs, two bowls, and a whisk.

He silently mourns his arm in advance as he reluctantly lets go of his hold on Tobirama’s waist to grab the bowls and separate the egg whites from the yolks.

It’s as he’s separating the third egg when he speaks as Tobirama ceases in slamming the dough onto the counter to fold it again. “Antsy were we?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” Tobirama grunts, slamming the dough once more.

Tobirama had been barred from his lab and the Tower for two weeks after a particularly disastrous experiment where the white-haired genius had gotten his left arm accidentally amputated. Madara had no idea it had even happened until Kagami had dashed into his study to tell him the news. From the hospital staff, he’d heard that the supposed genius had apparently walked himself into the hospital holding his amputated arm like it was business as usual, calmly asking for Hashirama who he knew was checking on the hospital. Madara’s not quite sure how his husband survived to reach adulthood.

Hashirama even managed to get Tobirama’s squad of minions to keep watch and send him sad looks if he even started staring longingly in the direction of his lab so the white-haired man could only read his personal library which he’d quickly grown bored of. He branched out, trying out ink painting, sketching out seals he’d disguised as calligraphy—good thing he’d taken up the offer to learn some basic fuinjutsu in the hopes that he can keep up with Tobirama’s rants as he worked through a problem, which he did if only barely—, even wood sculpting at one point, hands moving as if on instinct only to drop it when he finished one piece.

It looks like Tobirama fell back to baking to pound out some frustration.

“I think I can imagine just fine,” he says, looking at Tobirama beside him. Madara is momentarily distracted from his task when he sees Tobirama’s muscled arm flex again, almost dropping the eggshells in his hands. He turns back to the bowl in front of him when Tobirama raises a brow in askance. He doesn’t spot the knowing glint in red eyes, distracted by the heat in his cheeks, trying to focus on separating the egg whites and yolks quicker and adding the sugar to the egg whites in the bowl.

Beside him, Tobirama inspects the dough he kneaded probably more than required. Judging it to be sufficient, he puts it in a bowl to rest, covering it with a cloth.

Madara hears Tobirama turning the water on, probably washing his hands. He feels him approach when he starts furiously whisking the egg whites, ready to take over when his arm tires.

He feels Tobirama’s gaze sear into him but when Madara turns his gaze away from the bowl held in the crook of his arm as he continues whisking to look at Tobirama but only sees red eyes focused on the bowl.

Madara trades with Tobirama to rest his burning arm. He watches Tobirama’s bicep flex—bless that tasuki—as he whisks furiously, the egg whites starting to peak. The scene looks slightly familiar. He puts the thought away when he trades with Tobirama again.

When the frosting has peaked, Tobirama flips the bowl upside down to test it. Satisfied, he stuffs the bowl in the fridge to cool.

“Hmm,” Tobirama hums, “the dough needs to rest and the frosting is cooling.” Tobirama turns to Madara. “What to do, what to do,” Tobirama says, punctuating every word with a step towards Madara.

Madara gulps, taking skittish steps backward until his back bumps into the kitchen counter. He certainly hadn’t expected this when he got home from a busy work day. Can’t say he’s refusing.

Tobirama draws to a stop when their chests touch, arms caging Madara in. Madara automatically winds his arms around Tobirama’s waist, hands wandering up to those strong shoulders.

“Any ideas, Madara?” Tobirama smirks, face leaning close enough that Madara could start counting the white eyelashes framing his red eyes.

Madara returns the smirk when his hand reaches the back of Tobirama’s neck. “Mmm. I think you already have one.” Then Madara drags him into a kiss before he could draw it out further.

Tobirama presses him into the counter, arm drawing Madara in closer, supporting him as he angles his head to plunge his tongue into Madara’s mouth, drawing out a moan. Madara grips at the back of Tobirama’s kimono to stroke his back.

Tobirama’s other hand moves to knead Madara’s ass, dragging out a groan.

Hushed moans and quiet, wet sounds fill the kitchen, the only other noise the low whirr of the fridge.

They should bake more.

**Author's Note:**

> the tumblr post of this is [here](https://antukini.tumblr.com/post/618016931248783360/inspired-by-war-in-times-of-peace-by-thank-you)
> 
> *fade to black* woooo (i’ll probably giggle myself off the couch if i attempted writing smut so here you go lmao)
> 
> tasuki is the sash that holds back the sleeves of the kimono for mobility
> 
> if you’re wondering, the “scene” madara thinks is similar to tobirama whisking is uh jacking off lol. got the idea from a chef au fic i read years ago lmao
> 
> highkey nervous about this ahahahah i hope you like it
> 
> i thought i’d finish quicker but then the weather 💀 (pls help i’m going to sweat myself into dehydration) and then ninja voltage kept distracting me but at least it’s longer than i intended ahahah
> 
> edit: i am an Idiot and misremembered the genkan as the engawa *facepalm* 
> 
> [tumblr](https://antukini.tumblr.com/)   
>  [twitter](https://twitter.com/antukini)


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